


What do you need?

by DryDreams



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Bruises, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Pain, Pete likes getting roughed up, Robot Sex, Sort of? - Freeform, The first part is not wholesome, The suit fucks, Threesome, Trans Peter Parker, but it’s wholesome, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams
Summary: Peter gets shoved ass-up into the ground by guys who could rip his head off every day, but sadly none of them ever follow through. Luckily, Tony Stark can’t mind his own business.
Relationships: Peter Parker/The Iron Man Suit, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 243





	What do you need?

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine whichever versions of Peter and Tony you wish, but I’m imagining ps4 Peter Parker and MCU Tony. Have fun!!

Peter stumbles as he hits the ground, legs shaky. The air is cool and dark inside the warehouse and his sixth sense tells him he is safe. With a groan he lowers himself to the floor and lets his body give out, back against a large crate. 

As he goes still, he feels his heart beating, loud in his ears. His breath is hot and his hair is damp with sweat under his mask. Feeling unusually suffocated, he tugs it off and takes a deep breath. Pain flares in his ribs and his mind dutifully provides a replay of being slammed into a concrete pillar, the breath being punched from his lungs. 

A flash of warm arousal shoots up his spine and he shivers, biting his swollen lip and _oh,_ that hurts good. 

Only trying to take the edge off, he cups himself through his suit and pushes hard, grinding against his own hand, back arching. With his other hand he gingerly touches his jaw, where a string of nasty, finger shaped bruises were forming. They wouldn’t last long.

The inhumanly built thug had beaten him in the strength contest and effortlessly lifted him by his chin, shoving him against rough stone. Peter’s traitorous body pulses with need again as he remembers how he had struggled to breathe, head back, neck vulnerable. 

He presses his own fingers into the bruises now, hissing at the pain but it’s so sweet, so perfect. 

Spider-Man had done his job, wiggled free and won the battle. But in Peter’s mind, it ended differently. In Peter’s mind, he couldn’t get free. Big hands pawed at him, effortlessly shredding the thin material of his suit. Abruptly his hips buck and he rubs at himself with more purpose now, feeling dampness through the perfectly intact fabric. 

His eyes slip shut as he imagines too-thick fingers pushing abruptly into him, into his cunt and into his wet mouth, choking him. The thought of something pressing down on his tongue has him salivating, and his own fingers drift across his bottom lip. Feigning obedience, he drops his jaw and his fingertips catch on the dampness of his lip before he pushes them searchingly inside. Instinctively his tongue darts out to meet them as he presses down absentmindedly on his pointiest canine and then further into his mouth. A muffled moan escapes around his fingers. 

_God,_ he wishes there were someone there to pin him to the ground and fill him up. He can’t even properly touch himself, not without getting naked on the dirty concrete floor. Frustrated, he writhes and his head thumps lightly on the box behind him, his fingers slipping out of his mouth. A small sharp pain at his temple sends another memory thrumming through him, of being thrown to the ground face down, picking up his head only to have it slammed down again. His imagination takes the wheel once more, bringing a heavy body down on top of him, grinding down against his ass. 

Peter’s back arches; he can almost _feel_ the pressure. Tipping his head more gently against the box he thinks of his hair being roughly pulled until his head is forced back uncomfortably far. He throbs with how bad he _wants_ as he pictures a thick length shoving into him, roughly taking. It’s this elusive ghost of a feeling that sends him over the edge as he rubs himself firmly, moaning into the echoing silence. His muscles tense and his mouth falls open, body taut like a bow as he shivers through the orgasm. 

Then, disappointingly as always, it fades. Peter is left thrumming again, heartbeat somehow even louder, his whole body pulsing with it. Panting, he lays down on the cool concrete, pressing his feverishly warm cheek to the ground.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

This couldn’t possibly be sustainable, he thinks absentmindedly. He really needs to get laid. And figure out how to get into his own pants more easily, for fucks sake. 

~~~

The Stark suit is incredible. Intuitive, gadgets hidden all over— breathable, even. Peter is grateful, and pleased that he has won some sort of favor with Stark. Since he was a kid Peter had looked up to Tony, maybe even idolized him a little. So, this whole Avengers thing is a bit surreal. Especially the part of it where he regularly gets phone calls from Iron Man. 

Every day he learns of some new feature of the suit. The AI responds to what it— she?— thinks his needs are, which turns out to be a lot of things Peter had never thought of. He of all people knew very well what nanotech could do but it still baffled him just how much _stuff_ Stark had fit in the outfit. It was like a whole car plus the car wash. 

Currently, the impact absorption feature was coming in handy. Some lone thug had gotten his hands on a set of state-of-the-art gauntlets. Lacking creativity, he was using them to punch stuff really, really hard. 

As Peter slams into the pavement, the suit does its job and it doesn’t hurt as much as usual. That’s handy. Still, all the breath is forced from his lungs, and a sharp pang of arousal shoots through him. _Right on cue_ , he thinks dryly as he pushes to his feet, flipping nimbly out of the way of the next incoming blow. His penchant for getting the shit kicked out of him hadn’t gone away. Unfortunately, he has to keep doing it. Most days now, he ignores his urges. He has to. He can’t be rubbing one out after every rough fight he has, he’d never get anything done. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he taunts the furious man. “I’m sure you can— _ngg,_ ah, _fuck._ ” He cuts himself off and his knees wobble as the crotch of his suit began to _fucking vibrate._

Panicked, with shocks of pleasure shivering through him, he shoots a web and pulls himself safely out of the way for a moment, landing clumsily. “Hey, Karen!?” He blurts and the interface in his lenses blinks on. 

“Hello Peter,” the AI responds. 

“Hi, um, _ah,_ w-what is my suit doing?” 

The brute on the street below roars, looking around for something to throw. Thankfully, police will be here within moments, and the thug isn’t quite big enough that they couldn’t take it from here. Peter’s back arches slightly and he whimpers. 

“Sensors indicated that you were experiencing arousal and responded with the programmed protocol. Would you like to send an error report?” 

“How— _what_ , never mind,” he pants. “No error report, just turn it off. Please.”

Immediately the torture stops, but the feeling stays. He is pulsing with need now, thrumming like a live wire. If he gets punched again he’ll probably lose it. 

Just in time, NYPD rolls up. Peter lands gingerly beside an officer, who focuses his gaze on the problem but says affirmingly; “Spider-Man.”

“Hey man, sorry to do this but I’ve gotta run, bigger fish to fry and all that. I think you guys will be able to handle this one. Civilians are clear and I loosened him up for ya.”

“We’ve got it under control, Spidey. Good luck.”

And with that Peter is off, zipping away and up to a secluded rooftop. 

Heart pounding, he leans up against a tall chimney and takes a deep breath. Which only serves to draw his focus back to the situation between his legs. Hesitantly he reaches down, lightly skimming his fingers over his lower stomach and further. As soon as the touch draws a response from his body the suit hums to life again and Peter chokes. “God, Stark, what the hell,” he groans as his hips twitch. “This just isn't sensible, _hnng_.”

Against his better judgement, if that was even a thing he had anymore, he decides to lean into it. Lifting a hand above his head, he grips the bricks behind him with his fingertips so at least he isn’t writhing around on the ground. The birds would judge him. Then he bites his lip and pushes the vibrations firmly closer and, _oh God_ that was nice. 

Absentmindedly, as he grinds against his fingers, he marvels once again at how impressive this tech is. It’s hard to find a good vibrator. Either the shape is wrong or the vibrations are wrong, always something. But this! It’s _perfect_ , and that is a bit infuriating. This wasn’t just an afterthought; it took some serious thinking. Peter flushes at the idea of Tony fucking Stark considering how to get him off, and the warmth goes straight to his dick. After that it is all downhill; the thought has him practically rutting into the air. When he comes the suit seems to ripple over him and he shivers with it, soft sounds escaping his mouth. He hadn’t even taken the mask off. 

God. He groans softly and slides down to sit on the roof. “Not sensible,” he mutters again. “Karen, call Mr Stark please. It’s not urgent, but…” 

By some miracle, Tony actually picks up. Quickly. “Peter Parker, as I live and breathe. What’s going on buddy?” 

As soon as Peter hears Tony’s voice, that _thought_ enters his head again and he stutters. “I, uh. Hi. Yes. I was just wondering…”

The eyebrow raise is audible. “Go on?”

“Did you ...put _a vibrator in my suit?_ ” The words trip over each other, but he gets them out. 

There is a pause and then a genuine chuckle. Well. More like a giggle, actually and Peter blushes again, frowning petulantly. 

“Well!?” He demands, less nervous now. 

“I forgot to take it off the list, I suppose.” Tony says, laughter still in his voice. 

“The...the list?”

“The list of things I’ve developed over the years that I graciously decided to give to you.” 

Ah. “So you didn’t make...it wasn’t like, for…”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t originally make it for myself.” 

Now. That… well.

Very quickly Peter shoves the thought of Tony doing the very same thing he had just done _out_ of his head. He may not want to date Tony per se, or at least he doesn’t think so ...but he is _human_ , and Tony is _Tony_ , dammit. 

“I see. I uh... Cool. Okay.”

“I’m assuming you discovered that special feature accidentally,” Tony teases. 

“Shut up!” Peter grumbles. “I’ve been pranked, you pranked me.” 

“I mean, I could take it _out…”_

“No!” He says, far too quickly. “No, I mean. I don’t wanna put you through the trouble, it’s cool.” 

“Sure, Pete, uh-huh. How’s the rest of the suit treating you?”

“Oh, it’s great. So great. Love the little wings. And it doesn’t get grease stains when I eat pizza. Really great.”

“Glad I could help. You coming to dinner next week?”

“Uhhh…” Peter wracks his brain for plans. He doesn’t remember making any. He absolutely would have remembered that. Maybe.

“Wednesday, seven, my place.” 

Peter sees a small calendar pop up. Karen was on top of it. “Yes. Definitely and absolutely.” 

“You bringing a date?” 

“Should I?”

“No.” Tony says. There is a touch of firmness in his tone. Peter’s stomach does a somersault. 

“O-okay. Cool. See you then.”

“See ya, Spider-Man.”

For a moment, Peter just sits there. A bit stunned. Then he shakes his head and hops to his feet. “Karen, how do I wash the suit?”

~~~

Wednesday came so slowly. Peter kept agonizing over the implications of the situation. The invitation.

Obviously it was just dinner, who was he kidding. They were pretty much coworkers now, it made sense to have dinner. Right? 

He knew Tony well enough at this point to know not to dress up too fancy, a button up shirt and his only good pair of jeans over his suit. No offense to Iron Man, but he was a trouble magnet and it was always good to be prepared. 

When he gets up to the penthouse, into which the elevator opens, Tony meets him. Or rather, is waiting, leaning up against the doorframe from the foyer sort of room into the next. Peter has been here twice, but only for one of those visits was he conscious. Long story, superhero stuff. 

Awkwardly he shuffles his feet and then holds up the bottle of wine he’d bought. Tony raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

Far too late, Peter realizes that his 13$ bottle is garbage compared to whatever is already here. He grins weakly and drops his arm. “I’m honestly so bad at this.” 

“We’re just eating food, Parker,” Tony says with a friendly smirk. “And drinking grape juice, apparently. Come on.”

Tony motions towards the room behind him and starts to turn himself, then stops. “Oh, and this is a shoes off household.”

Peter squints at him. “You’re wearing shoes.”

“These are my inside shoes.”

“Wh- alright. Sure, okay.” 

Tony _winks_ and then goes into the other room and Peter puts his head in his hand for a moment. Then, begrudgingly, he takes off his shoes. Somehow he’s grateful that he hadn’t worn socks. He never does, when he’s got his suit on. Feels like double socks.

Dinner is good— great. Dinner is great, let’s be honest. They have fancy pizza and get really deep into the subject of teleportation possibilities. Spending time with Tony is always like this, Peter gets completely absorbed in theories and methodology and they talk for hours. There are few people that can keep up with Peter’s mind, and Tony meets him blow for blow. It’s nice, really nice. Tony also flirts like nobody's business, knowing glances and unnecessary touches. Peter is unsure if it’s personal, or if it’s just Tony, but he’s certainly not complaining. 

After a while, there is a lull in the conversation and Tony jumps on it. “I have something to show you downstairs, if you’d like,” he says, and there is something about the way he says it that gives Peter goosebumps. Wide eyed, he nods and when Tony smiles suspiciously and stands up, Peter follows suit. 

When they get to the lab on the bottom floor, Tony walks directly to an open area in the middle of the room, flanked by a couch and a few tables. Peter follows, slowly, as he takes in what is virtually his wet dream. The room is absolutely overflowing with state of the art technology. Not like he expected anything different, but he had never been down here before, never actually _seen_ it. Crossing his arms, Tony waits for a few long moments, letting Peter admire his surroundings.

Then he snaps his fingers and Peter, without even thinking, obediently meets his eye. “Alright,” Tony says, visibly amused. “If I promise that you can play with my toys later, can I have that gorgeous brain of yours pay attention to me for a little while longer?” 

Peter feels warm inside at the praise, and nods. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”

He’s trying not to think too much. Not to overthink things. The energy between them since he arrived has felt charged with… something. However, the chances of that being just his imagination are incredibly high. Expecting anything other than friendship from Tony Stark would be insane. The fact that he is apparently friends with Tony Stark in the first place is _insane_. But. 

God, the _flirting_. Peter is absolutely buzzing from the attention. He aches at his core, the attention makes him feel wanted and makes him want. He wants to be touched.

Just as he finishes silently telling himself to stop having weird fantasies, Tony speaks. For a moment, Peter’s brain shorts out. He blinks at Tony, who looks at him expectantly, with a touch of hunger. 

“What?” Peter finally says, because he doesn’t believe he heard correctly, there’s no way Tony just said— 

As calmly as he’d said it the first time, Tony repeats himself, “do you want me to make you come?” 

After opening his mouth once, and then closing it again, then pinching himself discreetly to make sure this wasn’t some sort of fever dream, Peter responds. “That’s a really extra way of saying you want to have sex, Tony.”

“Who said we’re having sex?” 

Tony steps into his space, so close that Peter is forced to take a step back. His spider senses tell him something is there that hadn’t been before, but he still jumps a little when his back hits something solid. Tony leans in further and his mouth brushes against Peter’s cheek. Warm breath ghosts over his skin and Peter sucks in a breath, then swallows thickly. In a rare expression of wonder and bafflement, he is at a loss for words. 

“You need to be taken care of, Spider-Man,” Tony says lowly, reaching up to unbutton Peter’s shirt, revealing his suit underneath. Peter nearly whimpers. No one who didn’t want him dead had been this close to him in so _long._

“Luckily,” Tony continues as he finishes with the buttons, taking half a step back. “There’s an app for that.” 

Peter’s incredulous laugh turns into a gasp as solid, metal _hands_ tug his shirt off his shoulders and then wrap firmly around his upper arms. Instinctively, he tries to pull away but they easily hold him fast, elbows behind his back. Oh, _yes._

“You can’t tell me you made _this_ feature for yourself,” Peter breathlessly teases. Tony smirks. 

“The armor was already fairly capable. I may have had to make some adjustments to accommodate for your strength, though.” 

With a flick of Tony’s wrist, the suit roughly adjusts Peter’s arms and a band of metal slides into place around his wrists. “You let me know if anything isn’t perfect and it all stops immediately,” Tony says very firmly, looking to him for confirmation. 

Peter nods, wide eyed. “Yessir,” he breathes and then yelps as he is shoved forward and smoothly caught before he can fall. Now he hangs suspended by his arms, only his toes touching the ground. This is no new position for him, but he’s not the one holding on this time. Something has _him_ , and he wouldn’t be able to catch himself if it dropped him. A hand slides over his hip and Peter watches as the fingers— God, the hinges move so smoothly, the suit is a work of _art_ , especially up close— slip under the waistband of his pants. Then the hand pulls, and despite his yell of protest, there’s a ripping sound and they _come right off._

“Wh—hey!“ 

The hand smooths over the thin fabric covering his thigh, far too close to where he desperately wants it to be. Most of the time his suit makes him feel invincible. Right now, he’s hyper aware of just how little resistance it would put up if anything wanted to get under it. 

“I know for a fact that those were from JC Penney. I already bought you better ones.”

“I refuse to have a sugar daddy,” Peter quips, craning his neck to make eye contact through his lashes and to his mild satisfaction, Tony blushes just a little bit. 

“Let’s get to the point,” Tony says after a moment, his tone a touch darker. “I know you like it _real_ rough, Parker. And I know you can’t find anyone to give that to you.” 

Peter flushes this time, face immediately hot. “How—“ he gapes. “You’ve been spying.”

“I’m just trying to know what you need. I only happened to accidentally learn that your idea of a hot night is getting the shit kicked out of you.” 

Peter tries to look away, suddenly shy, but with a flick of Tony’s wrist the Iron Man suit catches him by the chin, forcing him to keep looking, neck at an uncomfortable angle, now. He’s so wet, his knees feel weak. His hips move of their own accord as he _pulses_ with need.

“You dream about them pushing you down and _taking_ , don’t you?” 

Breathless and speechless, Peter doesn’t respond as he goes hot from his cheeks to his dick. He assumes for a moment that it’s a rhetorical question. Then Tony steps back into his space, leaning down and grabbing a handful of his hair. “Don’t you, Spider-man?”

“Yes,” Peter chokes out. _“Yes.”_

“Good. Because you’re ours tonight. Consider yourself taken.”

Peter whines when Tony lets go of his hair, and Tony hesitates. “What do you want?” He asks, sincerely and Peter’s stomach twists. So much for not being into Tony, he thinks. 

“It’s been a really long time since I got to kiss anyone,” Peter admits. This scheme of Tony’s was wild and so hot but there is also the undeniable truth that Peter desperately needs to be touched by another human. 

“Oh.” Tony says, as if he hadn't even considered this. “ _Oh,_ ” he says again and then, almost too quickly to process, Peter is pulled back up onto his feet and Tony is kissing him. There’s a hand gently cupping his jaw and Tony tastes faintly of wine and Peter can’t help himself, he moans quietly, eagerly as he kisses back. 

Tony is an incredible kisser, because of course he is, and Peter gets a bit lost in it. That is, until a strangely warm metal hand slides up from behind and wraps around his neck and he quickly remembers what he’s in for. 

A desperate sound escapes him and Tony pulls back, looking a bit starry eyed. “This okay?” He asks and Peter immediately blurts out a _yes, God yes, harder_ , tipping his chin up as his eyes flutter shut. 

With a twitch of Tony’s finger the grip tightens, and it should be terrifying, but it’s not, because Peter is so turned on. Because he’s being effectively choked out, for one, but also by how much control Tony has over this thing that he built— how he can tell it to use the exact amount of pressure and it _does_ and Peter trusts it implicitly not to crush his windpipe. It’s _amazing_. Breathtaking, even, he thinks with vague amusement as his breaths become shallow and he throbs with arousal. 

Peter lets out a gasp of a laugh at the thought as the grip slackens slightly, allowing him a single deep breath. Fingers dig into the meat of his thigh— they’ll probably leave bruises, _God._ Then Tony says, “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” and that’s the only warning Peter gets before his suit tears like paper. 

He isn’t even mad, this time. The metal feels strange as it skims over his hip and up his torso, just shredding the material as it goes, and Peter shivers as he moans. There’s nothing underneath his suit. 

“Were you expecting to need easy access, or is this just how you roll?” Tony asks, amusement evident in his voice despite being audibly breathless. 

Now hyper aware of the fact that he was almost fully exposed, Peter is having trouble focusing on much else than what was virtually a hand-shaped collar around his throat and the fingertips suddenly skating across his stomach and hips. Warm, soft, human hands. 

That, however, does not prevent him from rebuttal. “Be honest, Tony.” He pants. “Can I call you Tony? Are we there yet? Good, cool, be honest. Would _you_ wear underwear?”

Tony throws his head back and laughs. “Absolutely not.” 

Peter grins weakly. “It feels a little late for this, but please… do whatever you want to me. _Please,_ ” he says to the ceiling, unable to tip his chin down and see what Tony is doing.

Agreeably, Tony hums and then Peter feels a wet mouth against his now bare collarbone and fingertips drifting towards where he is dripping wet, inner thighs sticky with how much he wants this. 

Tony hisses several expletives into Peter's shoulder when he discovers this, first dragging his fingers through the dampness on Peter’s thigh before pressing his knuckles so close to where Peter is aching to be touched 

“Tony, God, please,” he begs. 

“Not quite God,” Tony says, smugly. “Getting closer every day, though.” 

Tony’s fingers find their target with ease and any witty reply that Peter may have had dies on his tongue. 

_“Ah, yeah_ ” he gasps as Tony rubs at his swollen dick. The grip around Peter’s throat draws away and Tony immediately mouths at the sensitive skin under his jaw. 

Tony knows exactly what he’s doing and he nearly has Peter begging for more before he abruptly steps back. Hips jerking, chasing the lost sensation, Peter whines. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he walks backwards to the couch behind him and sits down, sprawling like it’s an invitation. Peter starts to say something but is cut off as the suit grabs him again by the neck and by one thigh, picking him up off the ground. For a moment Peter flails and gasps for air as the suit carries him forward. But he’s dropped quickly, tumbling onto the couch between Tony’s sprawled legs. Peter reaches out quick and catches himself the back of the couch instinctively before he even realizes he’s no longer bound. 

Tony smiles up at him and then drags him down for another kiss. As their lips meet, Peter sucks in a gasp as the suit lifts his hips up, forcing him into a 90 degree angle, feet barely on the ground. Then a frustratingly smooth, thick finger pushes inside him and he groans loudly against Tony’s mouth. The thing crooks it’s finger just how it’s supposed to and Peter is barely surprised at this point, doesn’t really have the mind to be; it’s all going so fast and it feels so _fucking_ good. 

“Don’t these things have rockets in their fingers,” he mumbles and Tony laughs. “No, don’t answer that,” he continues before Tony has a chance to respond. “Ngghh… would you... hit me? Please?” 

Tony doesn’t hesitate to indulge him, waiting only for Peter to close his mouth. He pulls back his hand only slightly before delivering a surprisingly effective slap across Peter’s cheek. Peter’s head snaps to the side and a moan escapes him. The finger inside him pulls out and is replaced with two. “ _Again.”_

Peter’s face stings and aches by the time the digits moving inside him push him into a shuddering orgasm. His mouth hangs open as he pants and drools. He tastes iron; his lip is bleeding. Tony bites at his earlobe and whispers filthy praise. His knees shake but he’s far from collapsing. “Can this thing fuck me?” He gasps before he’s even stopped shuddering. 

“What do you think,” is all Tony says, and he snaps his fingers before sliding a hand down Peter’s side and then between his thighs. 

As a thick length rubs itself against Peter’s ass and Tony’s fingers rub against his sensitive, swollen dick he laughs deliriously. “You’re one horny bastard, Tony.” 

“You’re in no position to talk, baby.” Tony brushes Peter’s sweaty hair off his forehead and Peter bites his lip. Maybe he does lowkey want to date Tony Stark. That might just have been his dick talking, though. 

It takes very little time after the artificial cock splits him open for Peter to half collapse on top of Tony. He’s never been fucked so good in his life and he’s probably drooling on Tony’s shirt as he’s shoved repeatedly into it, moaning like he’s dying. 

Tony is doing his part, leaving teeth marks in Peter’s shoulder and scratch marks on his back, his arms, his chest. He’ll sure look like he’s been in a fight when this is over. For a little while. 

He’s unsure what Tony is getting out of this, but judging by the still breathless tone of his voice, he’s at least enjoying the experience. “ _God_ you’re gorgeous, Pete… so fucking hot,” 

Peter comes _four_ more times before he taps out and with a small gesture from Tony, the suit gently pulls out and lowers him to the couch. 

Shaking minutely and absolutely drained, Peter curls in Tony’s lap, heart pounding in his ears. He’s throbbing and hot; a bead of sweat follows the path of his spine and makes the scratches there sting as it goes. Tony traces it’s path with a fingertip and Peter shivers. 

“Hey, Karen?” Tony says and Peter feels the suit shift as, somehow, the AI turns on. 

“Functionality at only 23%, Mr Stark,” she responds cheerily and Peter laughs weakly. 

“No kidding,” he mutters. 

“Clean up, Karen,” Tony commands and the shreds of the suit slide off of Peter like water, all disappearing into the metal logo on his chest which drops into Tony’s palm. 

Grabbing a blanket that had been folded next to them, Tony throws around Peter’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you just do that earlier, if you wanted me naked so fast?” Peter questions. 

“Really added to the ravaged look, don’t you agree?” Tony smirks. Peter rolls his eyes and it hurts a bit in the best way, tugging at the bruises on his face. Mentally he catalogues his injuries; his hips and his thighs are a mess of bruises, his back stings from Tony’s fingernails and he aches all over. Mournfully he realizes his busted lip is already scabbed over and that it will all be gone by tomorrow. 

“So, next time can you break a rib or two?” He asks, in a tone that leaves room for him to plead sarcasm if the suggestion of a next time is too presumptuous. Tony just raises an eyebrow. 

“You should go to therapy, Spider-Man.” 

“I just did, thanks.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is....my magnum opus, fueled by a strong desire for Peter Parker to Get Fucked. 
> 
> This is the first thing I’ve posted since I was like 16 that isn’t Overwatch, I honestly can’t believe it. The beginning of a new era.
> 
> Thank u dae for being my editing angel


End file.
